A Pound Story
by ketchupbean
Summary: The usually grumpy Dr. Death deals with his job.


Dr. Death shuffled the paperwork on his desk. He didn't really feel like going through the piles of applications that littered the top of his marble desk, but duty forced him to at least place them in some form of manageable order. If he didn't actually work, at least a visitor who stopped by would see the appearance of it.that is if a visitor happened by. Dr. Death sighed. If someone did come by, it was more likely that they would be concerned with abandoning their pet than the working status of the Neopian Pound Staff. His mouth hardened, forming into the perpetual scowl that he always seemed to wear these days.  
A stout kacheek dressed in a white uniform popped her head into his office. "Excuse me Dr. Death, but you have owners in the waiting room."  
"Do any of them have appointments?" It used to be that the Neopian Pound had only a walk-in policy, but as Neopians rushed to discard their old pets in favor of new species, the Pound began to take appointments to lessen the chaos that usually ensued during rush hours. Now, it was standard procedure for owners to set up a date on which to abandon the pets, most seeing it as casual and everyday as throwing away the garbage. Indeed, Dr. Death usually saw the same faces every month or so.  
The kacheek flipped a few pages on the clipboard she was holding, "Only five of them, sir. I told the others that they would have to wait, but one insisted on seeing you as soon as possible. When I told him our policy he just left his neopet at the desk and left." Her eyes strayed over the page and dropped to the floor before looking back up at the techo. "Should I send the pet in, sir? I.I don't think its owner is going to come back."  
Dr. Death rubbed his temples and closed his eyes wearily. He really needed to get a new job, seeing hopeful pets discarded like a broken piece of furniture was too depressing. Perhaps his application at the Golden Dubloon would go through and he'd be able to leave here.  
Gesturing abruptly, he motioned to bring the pet in. Clearing a wide space on his desk, Dr. Death picked up his bendy yellow pencil. A downcast skeith slowly trudged into the room, its tail dragging the across the floor. It's under slung jaw, normally the most dominant feature on the species, was even more prominent being pushed out in a bleak frown. Uncertain, it stopped before Dr. Death's desk, its eyes staring at its pudgy feet.  
Clearing his throat, Dr. Death looked down at the form he had to fill out, his teeth gritting in anger. How could owners just abandon pets like this? With no explanation or consultation beforehand, they just left them here. Most pets felt guilty, thinking it was somehow their fault and suffered from severe depression making it even harder to get them adopted.  
Dr. Death recalled one instance of a particularly troublesome case: an owner had dumped off his blue grarrl at the Pound in order to adopt of the newer Draiks that had just been released. The grarrl had felt so miserable that he had developed sores on his tail. It had never truly healed and in the end had to be treated daily with an expensive organic balm. In fact, that grarrl was still here at the pound, no owner having been found that wanted to invest that much time into a pet.  
Shaking his head, Dr. Death refocused his attention back onto the skeith at hand. "Name, please?" he said gruffly.  
Shaking, the skeith swallowed, the lump traveling down his throat. "Dung0012443542."  
The techo's jaw muscles tightened as he wrote down the long numerical name into the appropriate space. Why owners had to name their pets such ridiculous titles was beyond him. Didn't they care enough to come up with an original name? If they would just take the time to check the Neopian Name Registry, their pets wouldn't be faced with such humiliation. Dr. Death clenched his jaw again; it wasn't his concern.  
"Species: Skeith. Color: Green. Gender: Male. Reason for impoundment?" He looked up from the form and stared blankly at the skeith. He wasn't really expecting the skeith to know, owner's who made an appointment rarely told their pets why.  
"I.umm.I." the skeith trailed off, his voice quavering slightly. Coughing, he started again, "I.He said.I shouldn't have eaten his Attack Fork.and Tiki Amulet." The last was said in a whisper, almost as if the neopet was trying to make an excuse for his owner's bad behavior. "They really are quite expensive, I saw it when he bought it from the.shop." An apologetic smile formed half-heartedly on the skeith's face.  
Dr. Death shook his head, but wrote "Ate Inventory Item x2" on the form. "I take it that he hadn't fed you in quite a while?" The only reason that grarrls or skeiths ever misbehaved by eating items out of the owner's inventory was when they were starving, and the only way that they would be starving would have been at the owner's negligence.  
The skeith nodded his head embarrassedly.  
"I also take it that your owner has stripped you off all possessions i.e. BD equipment, petpets."  
Again the skeith nodded. "I had a Walking Carpet named 38754." the large pet scuffed the floor with one of his feet, "he put it in his shop this morning."  
"Do you have any abilities granted to you via faerie or read any books?" Dr. Death went down the list mechanically, it was hard to do this every time, but one got used to it. The feelings would flare up; sometimes convince him that he could make a difference.blah, blah, blah.  
The skeith shook his head sadly. "I've only read two books and he said he was saving up for a draik egg and didn't have the NP to spend on me."  
Dr. Death marked the skeith's answer on his sheet. "Were you fed on a proper diet? Any stays at the NeoLodge?"  
"No." The skeith's answer was so quiet that the techo almost didn't hear it only the steady hum of the air conditioning. "He gave me tombola items when he couldn't sell them in his store."  
The yellow bendy pencil broke in two by the force of Dr. Death's grip. Embarrassed he quickly stuffed the remains in a drawer and stood up, straightening his lab coat. "Please follow me. Since you aren't smart, or left with any valuable items, it will be hard to place you with an owner. However, you have a guaranteed spot here at the pound until a suitable location can be found."  
Uncertainly, the skeith followed behind Dr. Death, short snuffles issuing every now and then from behind the techo's back. Dr. death strode down the blank hallway, his head held rigidly up in the air, focusing on the white tiling. Soon the sounds of various yips, howls, and grunts, as well as the smell of many animals, began to fill the air.  
Cages filled with neopets lined the walls. Many of them were stacked two high and ten abreast, dirty faces pressed against the cold bars that ran vertically across the front of the cages. A yellow gelert, obviously not more than a few hours old, whined incessantly, a bandage wrapped around its left paw.  
The skeith peered around Dr. Death's lab coat at the pet. "W-W-What happened to that gelert?" it asked hesitantly.  
Dr. Death peered down sullenly at the pet in question, the referred to the paperwork attached to the side of the canine's cage. "Crunny21, 5 hours old. Infected paw from a case of ill-treated Nezzles." He clipped the paper back into its slot and motioned for the skeith to follow him, "Obviously the pet got sick, the owner treated him with a black-market cure and only made the situation worse. Many times when a cure is expensive, the pet is abandoned and the owner creates a new one."  
The skeith gulped.  
"Here you are." Dr. Death opened the barred door to an empty cage. The skeith looked doubtfully inside. The faint reek of mynci pervaded the air and the skeith took a step back. "Come on, in you go. No where else." Dr. Death pushed the skeith in, not unkindly, and slowly closed the door. "An attendant will be back shortly to care for you further."  
Back in his office, Dr. Death stared at his desk blankly. An expression of utter hopelessness engraved on his face. He couldn't do this job anymore, simply couldn't give the standard "why are you here, in the cage you go" routine. There had to be better jobs out there, this one was too disappointing. Chances were that the skeith he had just seen would grow old in here, never again seeing Neopia or fresh air.  
"Sir?"  
Dr. Death looked up in surprise, putting a face of grumpy irritation on. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"  
The nurse shrank back against the wall. "Sorry sir, but your three o'clock appointment is here."  
"Hmm? 3 o'clock? Oh, of course..well, send her in!"  
A small boy came into the office holding a velvet bag in his hands, clutching it actually. Dr. Death smirked. "What's in the bag? Your bank account?"  
"Well, actually, Dr. Death , sir, it's a paintbrush I just bought from the Wizard.My brother gave me some money to start my account and he said that I would need a pet to paint it with." He trailed off uncertainly, obviously frightened by Dr. Death's fierce features.  
"If you're looking for Create-A-Pet you're in the wrong place, boy." The techo started to turn back to his forms, holding up a folder that dealt with a red uni admitted yesterday with a broken horn.  
The boy's reply interrupted him. "But you see, Dr. Death, sir, I don't want to create a pet. My brother said I would get more NP that way but I saw an ad for the pound and I...well, I want to help."  
He slowly put down the folder, spreading it out with both hands. Staring critically at the boy, wondering where this conversation was going, Dr. Death rubbed his chin. "you want to help, hmm? By donating your paintbrush?"  
The boy stood on one foot nervously, rubbing the back of his ankle with the other. "No, sir, I wanted to.to adopt one and paint him with it."  
He felt his spirit lighten. The Faerie Queen must be looking out for him today. Slowly, a smile creeping up on him, Dr. Death interlaced his hands in front of him, "Adopt a pet? Now I think we can help you. Exactly what did you have in mind?"  
"A skeith sir. I know about the naming problem. My brother tried to put me off of adopting by telling me all the bad things about it, but I don't care. Do you.have any skeiths sir?"  
The boy timidly brushed a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, before once again seizing the bag that held his paintbrush. This was a harrowing experience enough without having to be interrogated by a techo who looked mean enough to be working for the Brain Tree. The boy's eyebrows lifted in surprise as the techo suddenly came around the desk and laid a light hand on his shoulder. Looking up, the boy saw a face transformed. Instead of the miserable countenance that had stared at him throughout the conversation, Dr. Death was smiling and a warm glow emitted from the smile that stretched from ear to ear. At once, the boy felt more at ease.  
"Come. I have just the pet for you. Here at Neopian Pound, we have a pet for everyone." 


End file.
